Touch
by bleedcolor
Summary: Alphonse contemplates touch, and touching his brother. Yaoi, Elricest, Armor!AlxEd, Armor!Sex. Don't like, don't read.


Title: Touch  
Author: bleedcolor (freaky-underscore-zero on livejournal)  
Pairing: EdxAl (Elricest)  
Genre: Angst, Fluff  
Rating: NC-17  
Warnings: Armor!Sex...uh... language, Angsty!Aru, no real spoilers... Introspective, perhaps? Alphonse's point of view. Automail kink(?)

Notes: Written, or rather, _finished_ for Lauren, Shy, and Katy. These guys are like...my personal cheerleading squad. I harass them about the inadequacies of my writing and they are kind enough not to stab me with sporks in return. Many more thanks to Lauren for putting up with my impatience and beta-ing for me so this could be put up a.s.a.p., snogs. Just a small pointless note, this is the longest one-shot I've ever written.

This is the first time I've ever written any kind of smut/lemon/NC-17 scene. If you think it sucks feel free to let me know, I'm always open to concrit.

Disclaimer: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist. I'm not making any profit off of this fic. Please don't sue me. You might get a couple of bobby pins.

Alphonse Elric doesn't sleep. It's not that he's incapable of sleep, he's not, he simply chooses not to. Al's lack of body makes sleep pointless, his mind does not need the rest it would if he were still composed of flesh and blood. Occasionally, when he's weary enough, he'll lie on whatever unnecessary bed his brother has acquired for him for the night and release his consciousness the way a shattered man releases a cliff's ledge. Sometimes when this happens he doesn't even bother with the bed, he simply sits on the floor, generally in a dark corner, and keeps a few moments watch over a sleeping Edward before also succumbing to the land of the unconscious.

(The Elric brothers have never slept the sleep of the just, the elder for committing the forbidden, the younger for wishing to. )

But the times Alphonse allows himself the freedom of oblivion are few and far between. Only when he feels that he cannot face the world a moment longer does he let himself be sucked away into that other plane, that place where he visits worlds that have never existed, where his mother hugs him close, and his brother is whole and happy. When he ventures there it often seems that, as well as his troubles, he himself floats away. Though Al doesn't think of it frequently, he supposes it's something that comes with the territory of becoming a disembodied spirit.

(Al rarely surrenders to his dream because, as happy as it is, it hurts to be called away from a universe where he can glide through with no cares, with his body or without. When Alphonse is awake he has something he believes to be much better than his dreams. At least, it is something he enjoys more than dreaming. It's those moments that he steals once his brother has given up the fight against his "mortal coil" and given in to slumber that Alphonse enjoys the most. )

The younger Elric revels in the moments his brother is bathed in the moonlight, still, silent, and content in sleep. It is then that he finally permits himself to relax, kneeling as quietly next to Edward's bed as possible in his hulking metallic form, holding the limbs that serve as his hands carefully over the older boy's form, carefully yet forcefully concentrating on the warmth that ebbs from Ed's body.

Sometimes, in these moments, he wonders if Ed should have let him die the night they tried to bring their mother back. Al knows that what they did was forbidden for a reason, that he should accept the consequences and hope that they find the Philosopher's stone. But sometimes his punishment seems too harsh. He can feel, vibrations that run through his armor, cold and heat if he concentrates just so.

None of these sensations affect him quite the way they did, however. Heat and cold cause him no comfort or discomfort; they're simply elements of the world that surrounds him. Likewise, pain is a foreign concept to Al. Without nerve endings, without skin for that matter, things like bug bites, cuts, scrapes, bruises, and sunburn no longer worry Alphonse. Nothing touches him any more, in the same way he can't touch anything.

He _can _ feel, the way a person with burnt hands or singed fingertips feels, but he can no longer judge texture the way he might once have. He can no longer tell if the kitten in his fumbling hands is being treated too roughly, although the purring is generally a good indication. He can no longer differentiate the texture of a feline's fur, to him, it is neither silky nor coarse; it is simply there.

Al pretends, now and again, that he can smell. He can remember the fragrance of certain things and he imagines that when he concentrates hard enough he can inhale the aroma of the spaghetti being cooked on the stove, or the perfume of the fresh sheets he's laying on. Any spaghetti Alphonse thinks he can smell, however, no longer brings the mouthwatering rush of hunger to him. He wonders, sometimes, whether he couldn't get an essence of taste the way he's allowed a minimal sense of touch and, he thinks, smell. Not that, he knows, a sense of taste would do him any type of good without a body.

Even in his armor Alphonse is capable of seeing and hearing, although without ears and eyes, it is more like perceiving. His sight wasn't defined in the same lines and colors it once had been, and as for hearing, more and more frequently it seemed that Al knew what Ed was going to say before he even spoke.

The thought that he might be able to read his brother's mind (or anyone else's, for that matter) scares Al more than the notion that he might not ever regain his body. After all, if he can know what Ed is thinking, what is there to keep his brother from knowing what he's thinking? And so the younger Elric is always careful to keep from concentrating too intensely on what Edward is saying. He is always cautious to let the words come to him unbidden the way they did when he was first adjusting to his steel shell.

As much as the prospect of knowing his brother's thoughts frightens him, the fact that his brother might be able to know Al's own thoughts in turn unsettles the younger boy even more. The only thing keeping Alphonse sane is the knowledge that Ed has no idea what is going through his mind. Al knows that, as much as the suit of armor serving as his body is his prison, being bodiless is his sole saving grace.

Whenever Edward's intuition warned him that his younger brother was concentrating on him as opposed to what his focus should be centered on, it was Al's lack of emotional display that was often his salvation. Otherwise Al would have never been able to put his brother off with nervous half-truths and other deterrents as regularly as he did.

If Ed were able to guess Al's thoughts from his face, Alphonse can only imagine what his reaction would be. With his brother able to recognize, even now, when Alphonse has something on his mind, Al wants to keep Ed from knowing _what_, or rather, _who_, it is he has on his mind.

That's why, as much as Alphonse Elric loves his brother when he's awake; he loves the other boy more _freely _ while he's sleeping. The moments when Ed is lost to his dreams, when his older brother has no way of knowing that Al is sitting as close as he dares, concentrating on the warmth Ed releases and each breath he takes in, lost in his thoughts. And tonight, that's just what Al does, sharpening the lines of his brother's features in his mind and letting his imagination wander to what life might be like if they were two normal teenaged boys.

It is while Al is lost in his musings that Ed begins to twist beneath his sheets, gently at first, as though subconsciously attempting to not disturb anyone else, then writhing violently, trapped within the silk confines of his dream (or nightmare). His brother's movement escapes Al's notice at first, but is brought brutally to his attention as Ed arches off of the bed (into Alphonse's hovering hands), Al's name rolling sharply from his lips.

Startled, Alphonse tries to step backward, heedless of the fact that he is sitting, and loses his balance, connecting with the ground in a seemingly thunderous cacophony of clanks and clangs. He knows that it's useless to hope his brother is still asleep. Even Ed couldn't sleep through as much noise as he'd just made.

"Al? Is that you? What's 'a matter? What happened?"

Ed's sleepy queries violate the silence that had pervaded the room after Al's fall.

"N-nothing, Ed. I just…I fell out of bed. I'm sorry. Go back to sleep, brother, you need your rest."

"Bullshit," Edward pauses to reach over and flip on the light on the bed stand. "You're too close to my bed to have fallen out of yours, Al. I'm half awake, not stupid or blind," with a small yawn and stretch Ed sits up and looks at his brother. "So, tell me what happened or I'm never going to get any sleep. I know something's been going on with you lately."

For a few moments Al is too lost taking in the image that his brother presents in the dim light of the room to respond. Even with the slight distortions of his bodiless sight, Ed is a vision of honey blonde and tawny skin.

Al imagines, though he can't be too sure from where he now stands, that Ed is squinting sleepily at him through golden lashes, focusing his aurulent eyes directly on Al. His older brother's eyes are Alphonse's fondest memory, standing out brilliantly in his recollections the way Ed's hair now highlighted in the muted glow of the lamp.

The rest of Ed, without the startling red of his jacket to define him to Al's sight, nearly blurs into the white and shadow of his bed. At times like this the younger boy wonders if he isn't somehow viewing his brother's soul, but before his thoughts can wander much farther a wordless noise of impatience escapes his brother.

"Really, Ed, it's nothing. I was just awake, thinking. I didn't mean to wake you. Turn out the light and go back to sleep."

Al hopes that Ed will not ask why he'd been near Ed's bed in the first place; when it suited him Edward could be painfully oblivious or viciously shrewd. But Al's hopes are dashed as his brother opens his mouth again.

"Well why were you over here, Al? And why were you awake? You need to sleep too, you know."

"No, brother, I don't," Al states quietly, carefully avoiding Ed's first question, and taking a few steps toward the other boy's bed.

Now close enough to make out the expressions making their way across his brother's face Al almost wishes he hadn't said anything at all as a scowl settles across Ed's features.

"If you can sleep, Al, you ought to. Just because your body doesn't need it any more doesn't mean your mind doesn't need the break. It can't be healthy for you to be awake all the time."

Al thinks of protesting that he's not awake i all /i the time, but a glance at his brother's face has him nodding guiltily.

"I'll try to sleep then, brother," he concedes, turning toward his own bed, thankful that Ed is letting him off so easily.

When he has carefully settled his bulk onto the mattress Ed's voice startles him from the near impossible task of pulling the sheets up.

"Why did you lie?"

"What?" Al's head turns at Ed's words, the sheet he'd been struggling with sliding through now lax fingers.

With a sigh Ed swings his legs over the edge of his bed and stands with a slight hiss as his good foot hits the cold wooden floor. Al watches as him as he makes his way over to the younger brother's bed, the odd resonance of his footfalls breaking the stillness of the room.

"Why did you lie, Al? When I asked why you were awake; you told me you had fallen out of your bed."

Ed is standing over Al now, and then, suddenly, crawling into bed with his brother, pulling the sheets up over both of them and pressing himself against the cold steel of Alphonse's armor. The younger boy starts slightly, in part out of concern for his older brother and in part from the thoughts that begin to race through his mind at the contact.

What Al feels for his brother is much more profound than a physical attraction, but lately the physical aspect is all he can think of. After all, Ed is strikingly beautiful in any circumstance; how much more so would he be flushed and calling out Al's name, in need of completion?

The fact that Al wouldn't gain any physical pleasure from the act doesn't deter his thoughts, pleasuring his brother would be pleasure enough. The knowledge that he might be able to make his brother need him in this way, the idea of having Edward in a manner no one else ever had made him veritably weak in the knees. Just because his body gives no proof doesn't mean that Alphonse Elric does not lust, he does.

He lusts to have his brother, wholly and completely.

With an internal growl Alphonse attempts to push the familiar perusals from his mind, Ed is a person, not an object, and his _brother_ besides. He concentrates on the feel of Edward's body pressing against him, heating the shell that encases him. It's a pleasing, comforting sensation although he gains no actual physical stimulation from the gesture.

"Aren't I cold, brother?" he asks, genuinely curious, because as much as Ed complains about the cold, he hardly ever mentions it in reference to Al.

"Not really," Ed murmurs, cheek pressed against Alphonse's breastplate. "Not in the way you would think. Now answer my question, Al."

"I…I guess I was just embarrassed. I didn't want to have woken you up over something so stupid."

"And falling out of your bed isn't stupid?" gold eyes stare up at Al incredulously.

"Well. You startled me; it was the first thing I thought of."

"_I_ startled you? You're the one who was making enough noise to wake the dead, Al!"

"Yeah, but that was after…," Al broke off. After you called out my name in your sleep like it was the last thing you'd ever say.

"After what?"

"Never mind, brother. You should sleep; otherwise, you'll be cranky in the morning."

"So I'll sleep late in the morning. It's not like we've got to be anywhere or do anything right away."

Ed is silent for a few moments as he traces alchemic symbols on Al with his finger. The younger boy can't discern just what it is his brother is tracing, but he can feel the motion of Edward's arm and knows him well enough to make a few guesses. When he speaks again it is not the soft sleepy goodnight that Alphonse is expecting, but yet another question.

"What were you thinking about?"

"What?!" Al blurts the first thing that comes to mind in an effort to give him time to come up with a suitable response.

Edward is too quick, repeating his question in the breadth of a second.

"What were you thinking about, _Al_?"

The emphasis on his name stops Al's swirling thoughts cold. His half formed plots slowly dissolve into unknown depths of his subconscious. Dimly Alphonse is aware that he's speaking, something that might be more obvious to him if he still had lips and teeth and a tongue to form the syllables. Perhaps if he still had lungs to draw air into and vocal cords to push the air over he might have been able to stop himself from saying anything.

"Oh, uh, I – um, just…about touch."

Mentally Alphonse berates himself for letting it slip, for not insisting his brother forget about it and go to sleep. The younger Elric knows that Ed won't let it go now, wasn't this entire conversation a practical demonstration of the fact?

"Touch?"

Al wants to groan, but instead allows his armor to do it for him as he shifts away from Edward; Ed moves after him, keeping himself pressed to Al from head to toe. He knows the look that must be on Ed's face, an expression curiosity mixed with determination, it's the same mask Ed meets all his problems with. It's the determination in Ed's golden gaze that worries Alphonse at the moment, and he takes a moment to consider how to diffuse this situation.

"That's right, touch. It's nothing, Ed, like I said. Now will you please go to sleep? I'm the one who has to deal with you tomorrow, you know."

Dutifully Edward ignores his younger brother's plea to sleep, "What do you mean, touch?"

Mentally, Al wails in frustration, silently willing Ed to end the constant stream of questions and go to sleep even as he replies.

"Just what I said. Touch. Now, go to _sleep_, Ed!"

"What's the matter, Al? Don't you want to talk about it?" Ed pushes playfully against Alphonse's shoulder, his tone light and teasing.

"Exactly! I don't want to talk about it!" Al snaps, grateful for the seeming out his brother has given him.

A tense silence sweeps the room and Alphonse relaxes. Ed is lying rigidly next to him and Al is upset at the thought that he may have hurt his brother's feelings, but too relieved by the cessation of the older boy's queries to apologize. He'd do it in the morning, when he had better chances of putting Edward off.

"You know you can talk to me about anything, right, Al?"

His voice is hesitant in the quiet of the room and any other time Al might have recognized it as the surrender it had been intended as, but now the words only sent his thoughts swirling chaotically through him once more.

"Is that _so_, brother? I can tell you _anything_?" Al hissed out softly, unexplainably angry.

"Well, yeah," Ed muttered, moving back as Al sat up in the bed. "That's what brothers are for, right?"

With no more than half a notion it all spilled out; everything he didn't want his brother to know flowed out of him as he met Ed's gaze. If he had a tongue he might have bitten it to keep the thoughts running through his mind to himself. As it was he had no tongue, and – it almost seemed – no way to keep himself from speaking; the words forced themselves out of him laying hollow in the air as though he had actually forced them past the vocal cords he did not possess.

"What if I wanted to know about sex, _brother_?" Al whispered softly, making a sharp motion with his arm as Ed opened his mouth to reply. "More specifically, Ed, what if I wanted to know about sex with you?"

The wide-eyed stare he was on the receiving end of was more than enough answer for Al. He turned away from his brother, imagining he felt something inside him breaking as he took sensed Ed's weight shifting off of the bed.

"What do you want to know?"

Had Al been flesh and blood the speed with which he turned his head might have been painful. As armor it was a vaguely disorienting sensation that was more than worth it when his gaze finally settled on Edward. His brother was standing beside the bed wearing nothing more than an expression of pride and embarrassment that only he could pull off successfully, boxers and undershirt crumpled at his feet. Alphonse had a feeling that if he had a jaw it might have been hanging open in astonishment.

"Brother…?"

"Anything for you, Al. Anything."

Carefully Alphonse moves off of the bed, unsure of this opportunity, but determined to make the best of it. Ed watches him, golden eyes never straying from Al's form as the younger boy moves close to him. For a moment Al hesitates, fearful of ruining this chance. He wants this so badly he thinks he can taste it, sharp and tangy like metal, in the spot where the back of his throat would be if he had one. But perhaps, he muses bitterly, that's just his blood seal burning acridly into his soul, reminding him of what he really is.

Then (finally) Al's hand is cupping his brother's cheek with clumsy fingers, aware of the nervousness rolling off of Ed in waves and he knows that this will be one more thing to apologize for in the morning. This is now, however, and Alphonse can't bring himself to regret the beauty standing before him. What happens in the morning, he reasons, will happen; what happens now is what is most important.

"On the bed." Al murmurs.

As Ed complies, wordlessly, Alphonse struggles with what to do next, what to say next. Funny, he thinks, that when he doesn't want to say anything the words veritably speak themselves, but when he wants to say… i everything /i there are no words.

Edward is settled on the bed, now, propped up by a pillow, the slight blush fading over his cheekbones only adding to the overall image he presents. Legs spread and bent at the knee, heels digging into the mattress, automail arm thrown awkwardly above his head and flesh arm resting lazily on his lower stomach, Ed is the very picture of immorality, of everything Al has lusted over for months.

Finally, the expectancy in his brother's gaze prompts Alphonse into movement, and he kneels by the bed, reaching out even as his knees connect with the room's hardwood floor to tug the tie from Ed's braid. Carefully, gently he unwinds the older boy's hair, leaning in as close to Edward's ear as he can without touching.

"Show me."

When Ed moves, Al is surprised to see that it is his automail hand which delves down between his legs to tease and torment his length into hardness. He watches, still stringing his fingers through his brother's hair, as Edward strokes firmly and consistently, soft pants falling from his lips, hips jerking in time with his hand's movements. Al wonders how it feels, knows that at his age he should be starting to discover these pleasures for himself, but instead he is here, discovering Ed, and he can't bring himself to be sorry about it.

Alphonse runs a finger down the shell of his brother's ear, wanting to blow on it or lick it, perhaps, but settling for second best as Ed's body starts to shiver from his exertions, his panting becoming harsher and interspersed with soft moans.

"How does it feel, brother?" he whispers, tugging a little less than gently on the gold locks still entwined with his fingers.

Ed's face contorts slightly, his left heel losing its purchase on the sheets, dragging his leg down to lay flat against the bed. He doesn't bother to pull it back up again, only groans softly, throwing his head back, and slightly speeds his strokes.

"Feels good…"

"Just 'good'?" Al wonders softly, as he reaches over Ed's chest to caress a nipple.

"Ahhh," Ed's rhythm falters at Alphonse's touch, and he bites his lip roughly. "Feels…fantastic…ahhh…intense, Al…"

Al loses his fascination with his brother's nipple and moves his hand down to rest over his brother's automail.

"Show me," he whispers again, as he takes control of his brother's pace, hurrying Ed's stroking along, tightening his grip slightly.

Then Ed is stiffening, stiffening and coming in spurts with a soft, strangled noise. It's nothing like Al imagined and exactly what he imagined all at the same time. It's messy and violent and perfect. Slowly Edward goes limp, and he almost seems boneless as he allows his hand to slide away from his member, still panting shallowly.

Al is staring at his own hand, at the milky fluid that now covers his fingers. He rubs them together slightly, testing the texture. It's slick, which surprises him and before he can stop himself he's rubbing it over his brother's full bottom lip, wondering just what it tastes like. Ed makes a face as he licks his lips so Al assumes that it doesn't taste very nice, but then he repeats the action after his initial show of dislike, so perhaps it's not as bad as all that.

Shifting off of the floor, Al maneuvers himself until he has managed to fit most of his hulking form in-between Edward's legs. His brother's right leg lays across Alphonse's lap and the younger boy takes a moment to run a light touch along the flesh, from the Achilles tendon up the tight line of calf before ghosting behind a ticklish knee. Finally he turns his attention to what drew him to his current position, Ed's flaccid cock, nestled in the apex of his thighs amid wild curls and the cloudy remains of his release. Firmly he draws his index finger down the shaft, wanting to smile smugly when it gives in interested twitch.

"_Al_ …"

Al starts at the soft exhalation, unsure of whether it is a rebuke or a demand, and so he repeats his action, inordinately pleased when Ed's hips shift into his touch. His touch wanders farther down this time, caressing the other boy's testicles; Edward moans. Carefully he begins to pleasantly torture his brother back into arousal until the elder boy is begging for release from the teasing torment that Alphonse is subjecting him to.

Unhurriedly stroking Ed's renewed erection; Al presses a finger into his open mouth, surprised by the ferocity with his brother latches onto the rough digit. The pressure, heat, and dampness of Edward's mouth penetrates the thick leather of his glove and Al allows a soft gasp of his own to join those escaping Ed.

After an eternity of slow strokes and soft mewls, Al pulls his hand from his brother's mouth, placing his hand on Ed's hip, shifting slightly on the bed to gain better access to what he's after. Al's hand loses its purchase on Edward's body, sliding downwards a few inches on skin that Al knows must be slick with sweat although he can't really tell because the dampness isn't comparable to that of Ed's mouth.

Releasing Edward's hip, Al retakes his brother's manhood in hand beginning a new, quicker pace that has Ed thrashing on the mattress. Cautiously he presses his saliva soaked digit against Ed's entrance; he will only use one finger, his hands are too large and unwieldy, and he doesn't want to risk hurting his brother. But Ed takes him by surprise, pressing back onto him before he is ready for it, the feel of heat and pressure around that one finger nearly overwhelming him.

When his finger is fully settled inside his brother the tightness doubles as Edward contracts around him, arching off the bed and coming shamelessly once more. Alphonse makes a strangled noise at how clearly he can feel his brother surrounding him, but as Ed's body comes to rest against the sheets, he regretfully disconnects their bodies, wincing guiltily as Ed hisses at his movement.

"Mmm, Al…," Ed murmurs as his eyes slide halfway closed. His hair is spread around him like a halo on the pillow and he tugs a sheet across his hips to cover his nakedness.

"Brother?" Al queries softly. "Ed, are you okay?"

"Good…," Ed mumbles, eyes falling the rest of the way shut.

A brief inspection reassures Al that his brother is not in any lasting pain and he gives a soft laugh as he realizes Edward has fallen soundly asleep in a matter of moments. Dawn is creeping into the room, light filtering gently through the blinds.

Night has ended, Al knows, but the morning has begun.


End file.
